


Fan Girl

by runawaygypsy



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You meet Tom at a movie set where you are waiting for an autograph. He is attracted to you and rescues you from a rainstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fan Girl

Nervously, you stand in line clutching a hardcover book, your bag slung over your shoulder, watching, waiting, hoping that you'll get a chance to meet him. A cursory glance around and you feel like you're probably the only one his age here; the girls surrounding you are 20 at best, a few a little older, the rest flailing, screaming teenagers that are giving you a headache. You tell yourself that if you do get to meet him, it will be worth it. He is here filming a movie. Your hometown. Finally.

You switch feet, distributing your weight so neither foot gets too sore from standing on the sticky asphalt. It's a reflection of the balmy afternoon. The sky is clouding up, storm clouds on the horizon harbingers of a thunder shower that has been predicted for this afternoon. You are certain that, should it rain, everything will be cut short and you'll miss your chance to meet him.

The line pushes forward and he is more than a stick figure bobbing up and down above the crowd. You can see him now, all smiles, albeit tired, chatting animatedly with each fan as they approach him. Behind him, you can see Luke, his publicist, checking his watch and rolling his eyes, and flanking him on both sides, site security standing in as bodyguards. You take a small point-and-shoot camera out of your bag. You're close enough now that you can at least take a picture of him to prove you were here and you hold it up, frame him in the viewfinder and snap. Before you put the camera away, you look at the photo. Tom in profile, smiling softly, hair tousled by the wind, wearing the blue button-up shirt you have seen in more photographs of him than you can count. 

Things seem to be picking up, the line moving faster, or perhaps it is only your perception. A clap of thunder sounds in the distance and you pray that you'll at least get to give him the book you've brought before he has to go. 

And then, you are next. The guard you are closest to herds you forward and suddenly you are starstruck. You give Tom a smile like a giddy schoolgirl as he looks you up and down appreciatively and takes the book from you. He flips it open, balancing it on his knee, sharpie at the ready to sign. Suddenly aware, you shriek, “Oh, no!”

Tom looks at you, puzzled and you explain that the book is for him. He smiles and hands it back to Luke. “I'll have time to read this tonight,” he says. You pull a small notebook from your bag and hand that to him to sign “What's your name, darling?” he asks. You tell him and he writes it in his elegant handwriting, signing it, “Love, Tom Hiddleston,” and hands it back to you.

“Can I get a picture and maybe a hug?” you ask as you put the notebook in your bag and fish the camera back out, turning to him and grinning expectantly. 

“Come here,” he smiles, opening his long arms to you. You hand your camera to one of the girls waiting in line that has promised to capture this for you and snuggle into his chest, breathing in his smell, convinced nothing is better. He leans close to you and whispers, “You're gorgeous...”

As you turn to face the camera, your arm around his waist, his draped around your shoulders, smile for a couple shots and you ask, “What?” as he gives you a goodbye hug.

“You heard what I said,” he purrs, that deep voice hitting you right at your core. He kisses you on the cheek. “Stick around a while.” As he releases you, he winks at you. Your legs are now made of jelly and the only way you can explain how you get to standing against the building is the distance is that you floated there.

As you watch from the peripherals, you watch the spectacle, amused. Luke approaches Tom and tells him something that is inaudible to you ad Tom responds by telling the crowd, “I'm sorry, I must go, I am needed on set. I love you all!” He blows a kiss to the fans that remain as he is whisked away by Luke and one of the guards. They make a quick exit through a door in the building you are near while the other remains behind to calm the crowd of disappointed people.

You decide to flip through the photos and relive your moment with him as you contemplate whether to call your best friend to pick you up or hoof it to the nearest bus stop and ride transit back to town. The photos the other fan got of you were more than you had expected; she took not only the photos of the two of you smiling, but also you giving him the book of poetry as well as the hug. Sighing, you put the camera back, close your eyes and lean backwards against the brick.

Thoughts race through your head, and you hear the echo of his words, wishing you could have been your usually witty self and come back with a sexy double entendre. As you are lost in thought, the skies decide to rip open and rain begins to pour, drenching you in seconds. Oh, great, you think. But, at least it's raining now and not earlier. You had your time with Tom and that was all you wanted. 

Your friend doesn't answer he phone when you call, so you take shelter in an alcove near a side door, shivering and hoping for enough of a respite for you to hop the next bus and get home. As you stand there with your teeth chattering, the door behind you opens. You feel a hand on your shoulder and freeze as you hear him say, “Oh, you poor darling, come in from out in the rain.” Following him in, you manage to say, “Thanks, TTTTommmm...” through your rattling teeth. 

“Come on, let's get you warmer.” He grabs your hand and pulls you down a long corridor, the warmth from his skin seeping into you. As you follow, you realize that he is only clad in a bathrobe, his bare feet slapping against the linoleum. 

“What were you doing outside?” you ask, the storm's haze beginning to lift from your mind.

He stops and smiles at you. “I was consulting with security on something and saw you on the Closed Circuit.”

“In your bathrobe?” 

He shrugs sheepishly. “It's better than a towel.” 

You feel his grip on your hand as he pulls you along again, past doors and other hallway wings leading in other directions. He stops in front of one of the doors, heavy and wooden, a piece of wide masking tape plastered across it with “Tom” written on it in sharpie. The handle rattles as he opens the door and flips the light on inside. You step across the threshold as he holds the door open for you and makes a grand gesture with his hand. “My lady,” he says.

The room is plain, white utilitarian walls, a dressing table with a large illuminated mirror over it is leaned against the wall on the right. Directly across from it is a battered red couch that has clearly seen better days. In the far corner of the room, a rolling wardrobe rack filled with hangers of costumes. It is all illuminated by a harsh fluorescent light. “Your dressing room?”

The door closes automatically pulled by a spring and slams shut as Tom lets go of it. “It's not much, but better than I've had before.” He raises his eyebrows at you and smirks. 

You turn away from him to observe more and place your bag on the chair by the dressing table. Tom steals up behind you, leaning in close, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Let's get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold,” he whispers. You can tell 

You know your senses have definitely returned to you because this time you shoot back, “Yeah, thanks Mom,” at him. 

He chuckles and begins to pull the wet fabric up, peeling it off your still-wet skin. You chest heaves as you raise your arms, letting him pull it all the way off. Closing your eyes nervously, you feel his lips brush against your neck, intensifying the goosebumps you already have. As he turns to hang your shirt on the radiator under the black-painted window, you decide to help and remove your rain-soaked jeans. You hang them over a metal folding chair leaned against the dressing table.

Tom is at your side, once again, this time clucking, “And those underthings look soaked as well.” He licks his lips seductively and twists your bra straps around his fingers.

You know where this is going and you think, We're both grown adults, we know what we're doing. Mischievously, you say, “Allow me,” as you reach behind your back and undo the clasp. The lacy fabric falls forward, still held in place by his fingers and the water on your skin.

He pulls his fingers down your arms, taking the straps with them, revealing your breasts, their goose-bumped skin, nipples hardened in the cold. The bra drops to the floor as he lets go and shows his approval by caressing you, his fingers rolling the hard nubs between them eliciting a moan from you. 

His lips are upon yours suddenly, pressing against them, working them, his tongue pushing between them to meet yours. You are putty in his hands as tiny bolts of pleasure shoot through you. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, pulling you towards the couch and then you feel yourself tumble with him into the overstuffed cushions. “Is this alright?” he whispers, his blue eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you sigh. 

Tom smiles at you, satisfied with your answer and he is wrapping himself around you, encompassing you, claiming you. His legs are intertwined with yours, one arm wrapped around you fondling the closest breast. You can feel his breath on your neck again, hot, temperate, as his tongue darts out and flicks your ear, then slides down the side of your neck. His other hand is resting on your stomach, but slides slowly down, making your stomach flutter as it passes, then passes under the soaked silk panties you are wearing. You gasp as his long fingers caress your slit, making you crave them, until he fulfills your unspoken request and they dive into your wet heat, his thumb finding your already hard clit ad circling it. He crooks the fingers inside you, working you, pressing them against your g spot, each bit of pressure making you squirm, your hips rising up against his ministrations, until you are panting, mewling, leaning your head back and seeking his tongue, that he may penetrate you there as well. Your walls tense up against his fingers as you begin to come. “Oh, not quite yet,” he growls, pulling himself from you.

He pushes himself out from under you, leaning you back against the arm of the couch, lifts your legs over his shoulders and dives his delicious tongue into your folds, slurping your juices, swirling it around. Your hips buck as his teeth find your clit and nibble it gently. “Oh god,” you moan, “Tom!” You have no control over yourself now as you grasp his curls, holding him where he is at while you writhe, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. 

As you come down from your high, panting, you let go of him. He shakes the robe off and slides up, his body pressing against you, his cock standing at attention and pressed against your entrance. “You taste delicious,” he murmurs as his mouth covers yours, letting you taste your own juices. 

You spread your legs, opening yourself up to him, wanting to feel those snake hips move between your own. “Fuck me,” you growl, surprised at your own command. “I need to feel you inside me.”

Tom obliges, thrusting forward, filling you with himself slowly, deliberately. You mewl as he moves, his tip finally coming to rest at your most sensitive spot. He begins to pull back out, just as slowly, and as he does, he watches you. As he thrusts back in, more roughly this time, you lean your head back, arch your back and roll your eyes up into your head. His lips land on your neck, kissing, teeth nibbling your collarbone as he thrusts again and again, each time a little faster than the last. His pubic bone grinds against your bound creating friction against your clit with each push.

You wrap your arms around him and scratch his back with your nails as you begin to orgasm again. “Deeper,” you whisper, grasping his ass, pulling him even closer to you. 

“Scream for me,” he answers. “I want to hear you scream.” He pulls himself nearly out all the way and slams back into you, making your ragged breath hitch as you groan with the beginning spasms of pleasure. Each time he repeats it, you get louder, until he is slamming into you at full speed and you cry, “Tom! Tom! Tom!” with each one. 

You can feel his cock begin twitching and his own breath more feral as he begins to come, your name on his lips.

He slows down, then stops, still inside you. Your bodies are covered in sweat, both your juices running out of you as he withdraws and lays his head against your chest. You reach around and run your fingers through his curls, basking in bliss.

There is a knock on the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Hiddleston, you are needed on set now.”


End file.
